“Ready to go?” Christian asked as he walked into the room.
She nodded and grabbed her bag from where she’d left it on the couch the night before.
***
The trip to the coffee shop took about twenty minutes. Imogen didn’t talk. She kept her mind busy running through all the possible ways this meeting could go. Her legs wouldn’t stay still and she tapped her foot against the floor of the car.
“Do you know what he looks like?” Christian asked as he pulled up.
“Piper took a photo when she met him.” Imogen showed him a picture of a man in his fifties whose hair was the same shade as Imogen’s with the addition of a whole heap of gray.
Getting out of the car, she took hold of Christian’s hand and checked the time. Five to nine. She wasn’t late. When she walked into the coffee shop she scanned the people sitting and saw the man stand up from a booth on the side and raise a hand, his whole body language hesitant. She recognized him from the photo. Her uncle.
“Over there,” she said to Christian. She took a deep breath before smiling at the man and walking over to him, ignoring her rapidly beating heart. She hesitated. What did she call him?
“Uncle Peter?” It felt right as she said it and the huge smile he gave her was worth it. His eyes welled with tears.
“Yes, Imogen. How are you?”
“I’m well.” They stood awkwardly for a second and then Imogen slid into the booth. “This is my friend, Christian.”
Peter shook Christian’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” He was enthusiastic.
There was silence while they got settled and Imogen wondered what to say.
“You look so much like your mother.” There was a little sorrow in his tone.
She smiled; she liked that she had something of her mother in her, since she couldn’t remember the woman.
“I don’t know where to start,” Peter admitted, holding up his hands.
“Neither do I. Perhaps you could tell me about your children.” It was too early to go into what had happened to make the family split like it did.
He grinned and pulled over a book she hadn’t noticed on the table. He flipped it open and she saw photos. Family photos.
Her heart tugged.
“I’m married – thirty-five years now! My wife is Ingrid and we have three great kids, all grown up. Cecily is thirty, Sadie is twenty-eight and Connor is twenty-five.” He showed her pictures of her cousins.
She stared at the photos. Ingrid had blond hair and both Sadie and Connor had inherited it. Cecily had the same dark coloring as Imogen. These were her family.
A waitress came to take their order and she had a moment of respite. When she was gone, Imogen asked, “What do they do?” It was hard to talk through the lump in her throat.
Christian squeezed her hand.
“Cece is an architect, works for Jones Construction. Sadie is a teacher at the local primary school and Connor’s still working out what he wants to do.” There was a lot of pride in the man’s voice.
“Jones Construction is Hank’s company,” Christian said.
“You know Hank Jones? He’s a great guy,” Peter said.
Christian nodded. “He’s my friend George’s father.”
Imogen was amazed. How long would it have been before she would have run into Cece at some social function or other? “Do they know about me?”
“Yeah. We kept tabs on you, whenever you were mentioned in the news. We told them what happened. None of us realized you didn’t know about us, though, until your friend Piper contacted me.”
What must they have thought of her? “No, I didn’t.” She wanted to know more. “What about my other uncle?”
“Allen’s the good-looking one.” Peter laughed as if it were a running joke. “He’s got two kids and is divorced now. His boys are Blake and Trent; they’re thirty-one and twenty-nine respectively. Blake’s a scientist and Trent is a stay-at-home dad. He’s got baby, Kristy, who’s going to be one in a couple of weeks.”
Cousins – and second cousins.
“Do they all know you’re meeting with me?” How did they feel about her now? Did they think she was some stuck-up snob who didn’t want to be seen with them because they weren’t wealthy?
He nodded. “We had a bit of an argument because they all wanted to come but I thought it might be a bit overwhelming for you. It can be a bit boisterous when we all get together.”
They all wanted to come? They were all excited to meet her? It was unbelievable. She’d gone from having only a father to having a whole family who wanted to meet her. Imogen sniffed, to keep the tears in. “And my grandmother?”
Peter sobered and Imogen braced herself. “Well, we haven’t told her about you yet. We wanted to make sure you wanted to meet her before we told her the news. She’s getting on, you see, and we didn’t want to disappoint her.”
She understood. They were protecting her. She couldn’t blame them. She took a sip of the coffee. “I would like to meet her. I’d like to meet all of my family.”
Peter beamed at her. “They’ll be mighty happy to hear that.”
Imogen hesitated and then asked, “Uncle Peter, can you tell me what happened when my mother died?”
He frowned. “It was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but whatever happened stopped me from knowing you all existed until a couple of weeks ago.”
He sighed. “I was about your age when it all happened. Frances and Remy were besotted with each other. They were desperate for children, before Remy got much older.” He sipped his drink. “Franny had a couple of miscarriages so she was real careful with you. Your father hired a cook and a housekeeper to look after the house.”
“Were you friends with Papa?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say friends. We only saw each other on social occasions and he was much older than I was. I would say we had a common interest in loving your mother, but I did like him.”
“So what happened?”
“After you were born everything seemed fine. She was recovering well and you were a healthy baby. Then a day later she was struggling to breathe and died within minutes. They found out later it was a deep vein thrombosis. Apparently it can be common with pregnancies.” He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Mom and Dad were distraught. She was their little girl. Everyone was upset and people said things in the heat of the moment, things that shouldn’t have been said.”
Imogen waited for him to elaborate and when he didn’t, she asked, “Like what?”
He paused for a long moment. “They blamed the pregnancy and your father. Said she was dead because of you.”
Imogen sat back and Christian put his arm around her.
“They didn’t mean it. They were so upset and they both regretted it ever since,” Peter said. “Your father was of course furious and swore we would never have to see either of you again. Allen and I tried to smooth things over but your father wouldn’t speak with us. We had no idea what you were told. Over the years we tried contacting you, but could never get through your father. Then when you got older we figured you’d contact us if you wanted to see us.”
Imogen could understand a bit more now. Her father thought he was protecting her from people who hated her.
It made sense.
Peter watched her anxiously. “Do you understand?”
She reached out and covered his hand with her own. “Yes, I do.” It was a case of two families grieving over the death of one person. She couldn’t be held responsible for her mother’s death. She hadn’t chosen to be born, but, oh, how sad she was that words said in grief all those years ago were still resonating today. It was time to heal those hurts.
“When do you think I can meet the family?”
Peter’s shoulders rounded and a light flush lit his cheeks. “We’re having a family lunch today,” he said. “Everyone wanted to hear about meeting you and so we arranged to get together. You’re both welcome to come.”
Today. Was she ready for that
?
She glanced at Christian.
“Whatever you want to do,” he said, hearing her unasked question.
What the hell. “We’d love to.”
Peter beamed at her. “I’ll give them all a call.”
***
A couple of hours later Imogen was questioning what she’d got herself into. They’d left the coffee shop after agreeing to go to lunch so Peter could tell the family and visit his mother to break the news. She and Christian had taken a walk along the bayou to kill some time and walk off some of the nerves skating around her body.
“We’ll stay for as long as you’re comfortable,” Christian said. “Just give me the word when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come up with an excuse.”
“Thank you.”
They pulled up in front of a modern, cream brick house that had a well-manicured lawn and pretty roses in the garden bed.
There were already cars in the driveway and all up and down the street. She was meeting a grandmother, two uncles, an aunt, five cousins and any associated partners and children they had.
“Ready?” Christian asked.
She huffed out a breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
They walked up the path and knocked on the front door. From inside there were voices calling and the sound of laughter. She was debating whether she should knock again when a voice behind her said, “They’ll never hear you knock over that racket.”
Imogen turned to the dark-haired woman behind her, who she recognized from one of Peter’s photographs.
“I’m Cece, and you must be Imogen.”
“Yes.”
Before she could decide what to do, Cece hugged her. “Nice to finally meet you.” She smiled and walked to the front door. “Come in and I’ll introduce you to the clan.”
She was so matter-of-fact, so welcoming. Imogen hadn’t quite expected that. She shot a look at Christian, who nodded at her, and she followed Cece into the house. Peter was coming down the hallway with his arm around an older woman who had to be Imogen’s grandmother.
Imogen froze as she waited for the woman to notice her, taking in her still dark, permed hair, her neatly pressed gray slacks with a bright pink shirt, and the laughter lines at the corners of her eyes. This was her grandmother.
“Hi, Dad; hey, Grandma. Look who I found on the doorstep.” Cece stepped back.
Imogen’s grandmother put a hand to her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes. “Imogen?”
Imogen moved forward, drawn to the woman. “Hello, Grandma.” She went with her instinct and hugged her.
The old woman’s arms shook as they circled Imogen and hugged her fiercely. “I never thought I’d live to see the day,” she whispered.
Tears welled up in Imogen’s eyes.
“How about we go into the living room for a moment before you meet the others?” Peter suggested. “Cece, tell your mother we’ll be in shortly.”
Cece nodded, smiled and left the room.
Imogen helped her grandmother down onto the sofa and then sat next to her. Christian and Peter remained standing at the door.
Her grandmother clung to her as if she was afraid Imogen would disappear. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “Tell me about yourself.”
Where did she start? “I work with Papa at Tour de Force,” she said. “I oversee a whole range of things there.” None of which excited her. “My best friend Piper is the woman Uncle Peter met. She’s a journalist.”
“What do you do for fun?”
It was a good question. “I go to the movies, design clothing, meet with my friends.” She paused.
“Don’t you design clothing as a job?” Peter asked.
Imogen shook her head. “Not very often. There are other designers at Tour de Force and the stuff I design isn’t really suited to the label.”
“And what about this young man?” Grandma asked, indicating Christian. She’d relaxed her hold on Imogen’s arm and was less teary.
“Christian is my boyfriend.”
The older woman turned to him. “Do you take care of her?” she demanded.
“I try to, ma’am,” he said. “I haven’t been doing too good a job lately but I’m going to improve.”
She harrumphed. “See that you do.”
Imogen forced down a smile. She liked her. “What do you do for fun, Grandma?”
“Well I go salsa dancing on a Monday, play cards on Tuesday, help in the church community group on Wednesday, wrangle one or more of the children or grandchildren over for dinner on Thursday and have singing lessons on Friday.”
Imogen grinned. “Sounds like you’re busy.”
“Got to keep active at my age or I’ll wither and die.” She was matter-of-fact.
“Mom, I think the others are keen to meet Imogen,” Peter said.
She nodded. “Just one more thing.” She became serious and took both of Imogen’s hands. “I said some truly awful things when you were born. My only excuse was I was grieving for the loss of my only daughter and couldn’t move past that. It is horrific to lose a child, no matter what age they are.
“I don’t blame you for your mother’s death – I never did. It took me a long time to stop blaming your father, but I eventually did that too. Life is too short to hold onto your anger.” She took a breath. “I am so very sorry my grief prevented you from knowing your family, from meeting us. I won’t ask for forgiveness, but perhaps you will be able to understand.” Her grandmother’s hands shook as she squeezed Imogen’s hands.
There was no hesitation for Imogen. “Of course I forgive you. As you said, life’s too short and I want to get to know you all.” She hugged the woman.
“You are so sweet,” she said, her voice shaky. “Now, go and meet the rest of them and give me a few minutes to myself.”
Imogen was hesitant to leave the woman alone, she sounded so upset, but Peter gestured her to follow him.
The voices from the back of the house were still loud and Imogen clutched Christian’s hand for support.
Peter entered the kitchen, which held a man her age feeding a baby in a high chair and a couple of women, preparing lunch. The scent of the food wafted around Imogen and her stomach grumbled. It smelled very much like fried chicken and some type of spicy Mexican dish.
“Ingrid, Sadie and Trent, I’d like y’all to meet Imogen and Christian,” her uncle said as walked in. He turned to Imogen. “The little one is Kristy.”
Her aunt, Ingrid, wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried over. “Lovely to finally meet you,” she said and gave Imogen a hug.
Trent gave a wave. “Howdy.” He kept feeding his daughter and Sadie, with her hands covered in batter, grinned and said, “I would hug you but …” She held up her hands.
Imogen smiled.
“Can I get you both a drink?” Ingrid asked. “We’ve got wine, beer, coke or iced tea.”
“Iced tea, please,” Imogen said and Christian asked for a beer.
“Have a seat,” Ingrid said as she indicated the table next to Trent and baby Kristy.
“Do you need a hand with anything?” Imogen asked.
“Oh, no. Today you’re a guest,” Ingrid said. “Next time is soon enough to get you working.” She laughed.
Next time. It meant a future with her mother’s family. Imogen grinned.
“Just don’t volunteer for the fried chicken batter,” Sadie suggested.
Imogen relaxed as they chatted casually about what they did, how the different sports teams were doing – this was something about which Imogen knew nothing but Christian was able to partake in some friendly arguing – and one by one the different members of the family came in from outside to meet Imogen.
She suspected they’d organized it this way so as not to overwhelm her, as the moment someone went back outside, another person took his or her place, ostensibly to get another drink, or check on how lunch was going.
Grandma came back into the kitchen not long after Imogen had and she went outside to join the
others and to ‘tell them about their cousin.’
Imogen’s nerves faded as it became obvious these people genuinely wanted to welcome her as part of the family. They didn’t treat her like some kind of oddity but wanted to know more about her. By the end of lunch, she’d forgotten she’d only met these people today.
She insisted on helping with the dishes while Christian went out in the backyard to make up the numbers for a three-on-three game of basketball they were playing to work off all of the food.
“Imogen, you will come to my house for dinner on Thursday?” Grandma asked from where she sat at the kitchen table.
“I’d love to,” Imogen replied.
“Good. I’ll take you through the photo albums. You can bring your young man too if you like.”
“I’ll ask him.”
Grandma nodded in satisfaction.
Before she left Imogen swapped numbers and email addresses with her uncles, Cece, Sadie and her grandmother. Her male cousins didn’t do correspondence.
She walked back to the car, hand in hand with Christian.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Happy,” she said. “Exhausted, overwhelmed but happy. They’re all so nice, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for coming with me,” Imogen said and turned to him as they reached the car. She wrapped her arms around him. It felt right to have Christian next to her. He’d slotted in with her new family without a bump.
“You’re most welcome.”
As Christian started up the car he asked, “Where to now?”
“How about your place?” She didn’t want to go home yet. Didn’t want to run into her father until she worked out how she was going to tell him she would be spending time with her mother’s family. Because she was determined he wasn’t going to stop her.
“Sure.”
***
The next morning Imogen left early in order to meet her father for their usual Sunday brunch at Chateau Fontaine. She’d debated all the different ways she could tell her father about meeting the Ryders and still wasn’t sure which one was the best. She had to make sure whatever she said was about her needs and was nothing her father could turn and make about him.
At the guesthouse she showered and changed before walking through the garden to the chateau. The garden was one thing she was going to miss about moving to the new place, but she was determined she would make something from the plot of land she now called her own.
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